


What's Up Pinocchio?

by Brego_Mellon_Nin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Cursed Stiles, Getting Together, Humor, Jealous Scott, Large Cock, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Not Canon Compliant, Penis Measuring, Penis Size, Self Confidence Issues, Sheriff Doesn't Know About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Derek/Stiles Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/pseuds/Brego_Mellon_Nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has settled in for a bit of self indulgence, favorite porn uploaded and ready, his recently neglected dick already stirring. For a few minutes he simply watches as the two guys start kissing and touching, but as soon as the bigger guy starts sucking his partner, Stiles groans and grabs for his own erection. Except, when he grabs hold of it, it feels… foreign in his hand. Pulse jumping, he snaps his eyes downward. Then he sputters and flails, nearly tipping over the edge of the mattress. What the everloving fuck?</p><p>Stiles knows his dick, okay? He knows it well. He knows how long it is, how thick it is - measuring is a normal thing for a curious teenager, it really is - but somehow, that’s not true anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Up Pinocchio?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I admit it, my brain is fucked up and perverted.
> 
> Okay, moving on, I'd like to thank my ever faithful Dragontattoo75 for helping me get through this one and for pre reading. She's a star! Second, Sunystone for pre reading as well and third, a big thanks and lots of hugs go to my beta, Corey Smith! You are my hero ^_^
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.

 

 

**What’s Up, Pinocchio?**

 

At first it’s so subtle, Stiles doesn’t even notice. In fact, because he’s so busy sorting out the mess the witch left when she disappeared, it takes over a week before the truth is shoved in his face. More or less.

 

He’s settled in for a bit of self indulgence, favorite porn uploaded and ready, his recently neglected dick already stirring. Wasting no time, Stiles shoves down his underwear and gets comfortable. He’s gone way too long without a good orgasm and he quickly presses play, eyes focusing on the screen where a muscled, dark haired guy is chatting up a twink, his cheeky smile in place. Apart from the grin, the dude has quite the resemblance to one local alpha. Stiles is way past denying his crush on Broody McFrowny, but he’s also not yet ready to throw himself out there, like he did with Lydia. With werewolves sniffing around, he doesn’t want to risk airing out his emotions like that, fearing the inevitable humiliation following rejection. No thanks. He always pretended to bounce right back after one of Lydia’s countless rejections and got away with it because there were no emotion sniffers in his vicinity at the time.

 

For a few minutes he simply watches as the two guys start kissing and touching, but as soon as the bigger guy starts sucking his partner, Stiles groans and grabs for his own erection. Except, when he grabs hold of it, it feels… foreign in his hand. Pulse jumping, he snaps his eyes downward. Then he sputters and flails, nearly tipping over the edge of the mattress. What the everloving fuck?

 

Stiles knows his dick, okay? He knows it well. He knows how long it is, how thick it is - measuring is a normal thing for a curious teenager, it really is - but somehow, that’s not true anymore. When he measured last, he was a little above five inches erect. He knows exactly how much of the length his fist could cover, yet somehow, when he checks now, there is almost more outside his fist than inside.

 

To make sure, he wobbles over to his desk, stroking his uncooperative dick to avoid it wilting due to his nerves and digs out the ruler. He lines it up and nearly shouts. Six and a half inches! How the hell is that possible?

 

He freaks, prodding at his groin to check for any other changes, but there are none. The muffled sounds of the video still playing is a murmur in the background as he tries to recollect what he’s read about penis growth rates. Nothing he recalls would explain his dick growing over an inch in a single week.

 

In the end, he shuts off the porn and crawls under his blankets, erection well and truly deflated. His mind is spinning. Had he been cursed? The witch they’d had a confrontation with a few days ago _did_ leave with an awful big bang - literally, it knocked him on his ass in the dirt. He didn’t feel anything hit him though, and isn’t one supposed to feel a spell hitting? Besides, none of the others seem to have been affected and Stiles is pretty certain Scott would’ve come to him no matter the awkwardness potential.

 

Only the exhaustion from the last week enables him to fall asleep, but his dreams are filled with disturbing images of his dick growing and growing until he can’t even wear pants anymore.

 

xXx

 

Next morning he measures again. His morning wood is always resilient so he gives it a soft tug and grabs the ruler. Still six and a half inches. He sighs in relief, wandering into the bathroom to have a shower. He jerks off hurriedly, without looking too much at his junk. It’ll just freak him out.

 

Afterwards, when he’s soft again, there is almost no difference, so apparently, whatever this super growth is, it doesn’t affect flaccid length as much. Perhaps his dick is evolving into more of a grower type?

 

At school, there is the usual drama. Harris is an asshole, Scott and Jackson get into a fight and Stiles tries to calm everyone down while avoiding too much attention. The werewolves tend to forget they are supposed to be subtle if they get growly and since Stiles is the only one who doesn’t sprout claws and sideburns, he’s the only one left to bring things back into control. Danny keeps sniffing around at lunch, fishing for clues to solve the mystery of why his friends are always acting like they’re members of a weird cult, so Stiles tells him a tale and deflects with questions about gay sex. Not that he doesn’t know enough about the subject, but when in war, all tricks are allowed, right? Those questions always manage to distract Danny and get him to snap at Stiles and wander off, which is a blessing under the circumstances.

 

When he arrives home late that afternoon after lacrosse practice, Stiles is about ready to pass out. Between running suicides and keeping peace in the werewolf camp, he is exhausted. He needs to go shopping for dinner, though, and then cook. If he doesn’t, his dad will find an excuse to order fast food.

 

At the grocery store, he’s perusing the selection of fresh vegetables, when someone brushes up against his side. He’s about to snap about personal space when he looks up to find Derek staring at him.

 

“Hi Stiles. You okay?”

 

Sputtering, Stiles waves his arms around, before resolutely grabbing a bag of carrots and dumping them into his cart.

 

“Yeah, I’m good. Why? Why would there be anything wrong?”

 

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes. “Because you stink of stress so badly that I picked up on it all the way from the dairy section.”

 

Forcing a fake laugh, Stiles flaps a hand in a gesture meant to convey his total lack of concern, but Derek doesn’t seem convinced.

 

“ _Stiles_.”

 

“Fine! Fine, I have been stressing, but it’s a personal thing. Has nothing to do with the pack, so don’t worry.”

 

Stepping around the alpha, darting off for the fat free yoghurt, Stiles pretends not to hear Derek calling him back. It’s not like Derek would resort to shouting after Stiles in public. The sheriff would know in half a second.

 

He makes it home without anymore delays and has dinner ready by the time his dad pulls into the drive.

 

xXx

 

That evening, he places the ruler on the bedside table before shedding his clothes. He’s feeling nervous, face heating, so it takes him a few moments to get in the mood. He settles for his favorite fantasy of fucking Derek, getting the mighty Alpha to bend over and spread his legs to reveal that tight little pucker. Where no one else has ever been before him - at least that’s how it is in his fantasies.

 

Before he even knows it, he’s so close he has to squeeze the base of his cock not to come. Panting, with sweat gathering on his skin, he reaches for the ruler and presses it to the side of his erection.

 

Fucking shit!

 

Seven inches.

 

How in the world is this happening?

 

Stiles’ hands are shaking, a rushing sound in his ears. He’s dreamt about having a huge dick; what guy hasn’t? It doesn’t mean he was actually hoping to get one. Certainly not as a result of some freakish, unnatural mishap. What if it never stops growing? At some point, it will be too big for him to ever have sex like a normal man.

 

Erection long gone, Stiles flops onto his back, pulling the covers up over his head. He’ll have to think about his options tomorrow. Right now, he’s so tired and stressed out he’s literally seeing spots.

 

xXx

 

In the morning, Stiles writes up the measurements in a notebook that he keeps hidden in his desk. Just numbers, so no one will know what it is. Like the day before, his dick hasn’t grown overnight, so he resolves to be on the lookout for any unusual activity at school.

 

When he arrives, he meets Scott at his locker, like usual, and thankfully there’s no sign his best friend has any idea something might be wrong. He’s moaning about Allison and Isaac getting too close, which is pretty much par for the course these days. In fact, nothing exciting happens all day. He skirts Danny at lunch, he can’t handle an interrogation at the moment.

 

At practice, Scott nearly throws a fit when he smells Allison on Isaac and Stiles has to come up with some creative excuses because Finstock seems like he’s about to blow a fuse. With disaster averted, he slumps out to the parking lot and crawls into his Jeep. Who knew being a one-man antichaos unit - werewolf division - was such a draining and stressful job?

 

xXx

 

Before bedtime, he fetches the notebook and hides it in the drawer in his bedside table. He brushes his teeth, pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms and yells goodnight down the stairs, waiting with a hand on the railing until his dad’s distracted mumbling answers from the living room, almost drowned by the noise of the TV.

 

To be on the safe side, Stiles locks his door before getting into bed. With a sigh, he looks down, staring at his own crotch in a way that would be creepy if he was looking at someone else. While soft, his dick still doesn’t seem to have grown much. Perhaps half an inch at most?

 

Stiles foregoes the attempt to make anything happen without resorting to inappropriate sources and goes right into the Derek fantasy. Somewhere, in a far corner of his mind, a voice is telling him maybe he should be worried about his instantaneous reaction to a few mental images of a sexy, dangerous scowl and defined, sweat-sheened abs. He just can’t be assed to care right now.

 

When his cock is straining towards his stomach, aching and throbbing, he lines up the ruler. A high pitched squeak escapes past where he’s biting into his lower lip.

 

Almost _eight_ fucking inches!

 

Trying not to hyperventilate, he extends his shaking hands, writing his measurement into the notebook. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ultimately, he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to forget about the problem at hand by spending half an hour bringing himself to the edge and back, over and over until his whole body is a shaking, sweaty mess. As he finally allows himself to come, he buries his face into his pillow, moaning Derek’s name.

 

xXx

 

Over the next week, Stiles forms many theories as to what triggers the growth. Every single one is disproven rather quickly.

 

He figures it has something to do with him spending time with Scott, so he tries staying away from his friend, but he still grows. When he spends the whole of Saturday playing games at the McCall’s and nothing changes, he starts to suspect it’s only at school. Maybe, if it _is_ her fault, the witch thought it’d be hilarious to humiliate him at school?

 

However, he grows a quarter inch during Sunday, where he is neither with Scott nor at school, which throws that theory out the metaphorical window.

 

xXx

 

Tuesday evening, when he’s had a minor panic attack after watching his own dick swell and twitch until it reached well past nine on his ruler, he lets himself think about going to someone for help. The situation might be humiliating, but well, this can’t go on.

 

His options aren’t appealing though. He could go to Deaton, but somehow that seems even worse than going to someone who is sure to mock him. He is the primary expert in regards to magic, but the vet is always too stoic and Stiles would feel so weird going to him for help with his _dick_.

 

He could ask Scott, but he knows there isn’t much hope of getting a solution from his awesome and loyal, though slightly scatterbrained, best friend.

 

The only other he can think of is Derek and… no! No way is he going to the Alpha with his penis problems.

 

xXx

 

Pure coincidence is how Stiles finally figures out what triggers his problem.

 

After another week of stress and inner freak outs, he finally has a little time to himself. He’s sitting on his bed, teasing a finger beneath the head of his cock, touching the spot that will have his pulse pounding and precome oozing. Just as he’s pressed the ruler to his erection - ten inches precisely, holy pope on a pogo stick - there’s a knock on his door and his dad’s voice filters through, sounding embarrassed.

 

“Um… When you’re done, Stiles, I’d like to remind you it’s your turn to do the dishes.”

 

Face flaming, he squawks indignantly. “Dad! I’m not… I’m doing homework!”

 

If not for the fact he was frozen in place, ruler still lined up to his cock, he would’ve missed how it expanded from one moment to the next, reaching a little past the number ten. His mind whirling, he misses what his dad answers, but he does notice the footsteps going down the stairs.

 

Breath whooshing in and out, he fixes his gaze on his lap and deliberately tells another lie.

 

“My real name is Stiles.”

 

His cock lengthens a few millimeters.

 

Reluctant though he is to further his condition any more, he needs to be sure he’s right about this, so he takes a deep breath and fires off a couple more lies in rapid succession. His cock sneaks toward ten and a half inches. He clamps his lips shut.

 

Lying is what triggers it. Holy shit, he’s _so fucked_!

 

Thinking back, he realizes the witch might very well have known he tends to lie, because he certainly threw around some wild tales in her presence. Some of those might have been in jest, but she could still have found his loose tongue a tad offensive. He doesn’t remember if she also glared at him, seeing as he was distracted by the entire pack groaning at his endless sarcasm.

 

xXx

 

If Stiles hadn’t known how much he actually lied before he starts trying to avoid doing it, he certainly does now. He slipped once before school, in order to get out of the house without his dad asking too many questions about the new dent in the Jeep’s side. In first period alone, he catches himself with a lie on the tip of his tongue at least four times. Barely stopped himself.

 

By lunchtime, he is ready to buy some duct tape to make is easier for himself. Though, people would probably stare. Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure they’d all stare, despite the fact that he’s known as the weird kid. Damnit!

 

The problem is, holding back the lies, including the sarcastic comments he spews in abundance, takes a lot of effort and concentration and as a result, he’s much quieter than usual. Scott starts sending him worried looks before they’ve even been at the table for five minutes and the attention is making Stiles nervous. Thankfully, Scott doesn’t comment on it and Stiles is able to sneak away with an excuse of needing to find a book in the library. To avoid triggering the curse he _does_ go to the library, hiding in the stacks for the remainder of the break.

 

The biggest challenge of the day comes, when they are getting undressed after lacrosse, heading into the showers. Even though the difference in size is less when he’s soft, there’s still been a significant change by now and Stiles isn’t sure how long he can avoid detection.

 

He tries to hang back when the others are shuffling for the shower room, but somehow he gets herded in with the rest of the guys. He scurries into the corner and turns his back on the others. After a hasty scrub down, he tries to cover his groin with his hands while looking like he’s _not_ trying to cover his groin with his hands. No one calls him out on it, so he thinks he got away with it.

 

At least until Scott manages to drag his feet across the parking lot to the Jeep. He looks dejected, sighing as he drops down into the passenger seat.

 

Stiles feels like he ought to say something. “You okay, buddy?”

 

Shrugging, Scott turns to give him a small smile. “Yeah, it’s just… I miss her, you know? Every time I see her with Isaac, I want to bite his head off.”

 

“Yeah, I know, man. Wanna play Call of Duty and order a pizza? My dad is on night shift, we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

 

“Sure,” Scott beams, good mood apparently restored.

 

xXx

 

They’re patting their filled stomachs, empty pizza boxes discarded on the coffee table, when Scott turns to give Stiles a considering look.

 

“Stiles, can I ask you something?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

Scott clears his throat. “Um, it might be awkward.”

 

Snorting, Stiles waves his hands around, in an attempt to communicate how little he cares. They’ve always talked with each other about the weird stuff they are embarrassed to tell anyone else.

 

“It’s just…” Scott hesitates, before blurting out, “today at school, I saw you trying to hide in the shower. I must admit, I don’t keep that close an eye on your, uh, junk… but you’re huge! Even without being, you know... I think I would’ve noticed if you’d been this big all along. So, what gives?”

 

Despite being an alarming shade of red, Scott is keeping eye contact, seemingly determined to get his answer. Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

“Wow, awkward was an understatement,” Stiles snorts, secretly relieved about being able to discuss his worries with his best friend. “You’re right though. It’s a spell, I’m pretty sure. I think it might have happened when I was blasted on my ass by the witch we got rid of a while back? I’ve been researching, but haven’t found a solution yet. What I do know, however, is that my dick grows whenever I tell a lie. And dude, I lie a lot! Or, I used to.”

 

Scott doubles over, laughing. “Shit, you’re like Pinocchio!”

 

Oh, Stiles is aware, he _really_ is. He’s also not in the mood to make jokes about it right now.

 

Though he tries not to let it shine through too much, his voice still comes out sounding snappy and bitter. “Yes, let’s make fun of this, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

 

Cringing, Scott sneaks a furtive glance downward to Stiles’ crotch before redirecting it to his face. “So… how about going to Deaton? I mean, having a big dick is cool and all, but it will stop being fun at some point, right?”

 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, it’s already less fun, I need to use both hands to wank.”

 

“Dude, too much information, seriously.”

 

“Oh, and you never overshare?”

 

Scott blushes, a crooked smile on his face. “Touché, man. But, seriously, I think you should go to Deaton. He might be familiar with the spell. He won’t tell anyone, you know that.”

 

“Ugh, yeah, I know,” Stiles groans, face buried in the nearest cushion. “But I can already _feel_ the silent judgement. It’s tormenting me.”

 

Scott huffs. “Drama queen!”

 

Offended, Stiles punches his best friend’s arm. “Am not!”

 

“Okay,” Scott leans back in the couch, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Then you’re going to Deaton tomorrow, right?”

 

Knowing full well when he’s fighting a losing battle, Stiles grumbles agreement and presses play on another round of Call of Duty before Scott has time to get too smug.

 

xXx

 

Keeping the morning’s measurement – eleven inches – in mind, Stiles drives to the vet office after school. He’s battling the urge to flee the country, but sadly, his problem isn’t likely to go away should he choose to ignore it.

 

He finds Deaton in the back room, clipping the nails on a huge German Shepherd. The dog looks like he’s contemplating gnawing the vet’s arm off to avoid the discomfort, but apparently, he’s well mannered, restricting his protest to a withering glare.

 

Stiles hesitates in the doorway, not sure whether it’s a good idea getting close to the grumpy dog.

 

“Hey doc. Do you have a second?”

 

Deaton doesn’t acknowledge him, which Stiles doesn’t blame him for; this particular job seems to require a certain amount of concentration. When the dog’s last paw is done, the vet straightens up and nods at Stiles.

 

“Mr. Stilinski. What can I help you with?” Deaton uses a hand to scratch the big dog behind his ears. With a content rumble, the dog closes his eyes and tilts his head for better access.

 

“I was wondering if you are familiar with a curse or spell that triggers growth under certain circumstances. Like when you’re telling a lie, for example. Kind of like Pinocchio?”

 

Squinting, Deaton hums thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard of a spell like that. Let me check.”

 

As the vet leaves through the back door to his office where the _special_ books are kept, the German Shepherd levels a suspicious glare at Stiles. He tries not to look like the scrutiny is undeserved, wiping his sweating palms on his jeans. There’s a low _‘ah’_ from the next room before Deaton comes back in, hauling a big, dilapidated book.

 

“Here,” he says, pointing to a section of the tightly spaced writing. “This spell can be used as a sort of punishment to make someone see the error of their ways. To teach a lesson, one might say. Or it can be a component of revenge, if the caster is so inclined.”

 

Making sure his face doesn’t reveal any of his emotions, Stiles gives himself a metaphorical smack over the head. The witch definitely did this on purpose. Though, if she’s hoping this little adventure will stop his lying altogether, she’s got another thing coming.

 

He clears his throat, gesturing with a hand in small circles towards the book. “Does it say anything about how to break the spell?”

 

Deaton reads a few lines, his finger tip tracing along the parchment. “Ahh… no, I’m afraid not, Mr. Stilinski.”

 

Stiles’ stomach appears to have dropped into his feet and a rush of nausea hits him before the vet continues, seemingly fighting a smile, the awful sadist. “But it wears off with time. If this spell is cast in its basic form, the effects will revert after ten weeks. The purpose is to educate, to change an undesired behavior, so it needs to be for more than a single week. Changing habits is a tedious process.”

 

Stomach swooping, Stiles feels torn between relief and horror. On the plus side, he knows the curse will end, but unfortunately there’s still about six weeks left. He’s grown from five to a whopping eleven inches, and even though the growth rate has slowed a good deal since he figured out what triggered the spell, he’s still grown some. What with the secret life as a werewolf consultant and sidekick, a certain amount of lying is inevitable.

 

Clearing his throat, Stiles nods. “Right, thanks, Doc.”

 

He spins to walk out and the German Shepherd barks, the sound reverberating between the walls. Stiles squeals, jumping about a foot into the air in shock and nearly falls on his face. He manages to grab the edge of the sink placed right inside the door to the consultation room, righting himself. He shoots a quick glare at the dog, now wearing an expression akin to a smirk – or it would be, if dogs were capable of human emotions. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles sneaks a glance at the vet. Deaton’s lips are pinched, but the corners of his eyes are crinkling, belying his effort to look unamused.

 

Embarrassment heating his face, Stiles huffs and ducks his head, stalking out to his Jeep. At home, there won’t be any mean dogs scaring the shit out of him… At least none of the canine variety, anyway. Unless, does a werewolf count as a relative of the dog species? He’d ask Derek if not for the fact he’s pretty sure he’d lose his balls if he tried any additional dog-related talk.

 

xXx

 

As it turns out, hiding your dick from your classmates is more difficult than it sounds. At the end of the curse’s sixth week, Stiles is exhausted from all the sneaking and from censoring himself - his brain feels like it’s melting, waiting to leak out of his ears the next time he lies down. He’s always scoffed at anyone who dares comment on the frequency of his ramblings, but that was before he had to _stop doing it_. Even after this much time, it still amazes him how often he has to bite his tongue, often literally, in order to stop himself from going off on a sarcastic rant or spew smart-ass comments. The frequency of stupidity among high school students is scary, to be honest.

 

In order to avoid nasty surprises, Stiles still measures every morning and evening, but with his implemented lying-embargo, he’s managed to reduce the daily growth substantially. In the two weeks since he visited Deaton his dick has only grown half an inch, putting him at eleven and a half. A daunting size, to be sure, and sometimes he worries he won’t know what to do with his cock when it returns to its original size.

 

xXx

 

With a little over a week left until the spell is supposed to revert, Stiles is starting to feel a slight relief. So far he’s succeeded in keeping his issue secret from any nosy werewolves. Scott seems to have kept his promise not to tell and beyond a few subtle inquiries, he hasn’t mentioned the curse at all.

 

So naturally, fate has to disturb the peace. Stiles really ought to know not to celebrate ahead of time.

 

xXx

 

Because of Isaac asking out Allison, in public, Scott is especially mopey and Stiles, being the best friend to ever friend, offers to take him to the beach. Scott brightens, distracted from his misery and they quickly pack a bag, stuff some sandwiches and sodas in a cooler and head out.

 

The beach isn’t crowded, but there are a fair few people out and about in the early summer sun. After finding a good spot and lying out their towels, they venture into the water, squealing – _manfully_ – when the chilly waves crash over their feet.

 

Soon, Scott is all smiles and they laugh and mess around, taking turns tackling each other into the water. What with his extra abilities, Scott wins most of the time, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles is delighted to have even a single day with his best friend, where they can pretend nothing has changed. Like before the world of werewolves and supernatural disasters crashed down upon their heads.

 

For several hours, they alternate between dips in the ocean and basking in the sun, chatting about everything and nothing, enjoying the lighthearted mood and the break from responsibilities. Eventually, Stiles’ skin starts to go red and they decide to call it quits and head home for a few games and some takeout.

 

After packing up their stuff, they head up to the cabin housing the toilets and changing rooms. Stiles refuses to drag sand into his Jeep and besides, having a shower after an ocean swim is always a relief. The saltwater itches something fierce when it dries on your skin.

 

They are under the spray, scrubbing away, when Stiles happens to glance sideways. His eyes catch on the body of a dark haired man standing with his side turned their way. For a heart-stopping second, Stiles is sure it’s Derek, but then the man shifts a little and the moment is over. This guy is good looking, sure, but he’s got nothing on Derek. _Sourwolf_. Mister Broody Pants.

 

For a moment, Stiles’ mind wanders. Derek’s ass in those sinfully tight jeans he insists on wearing, his fucking awesome bed hair, his strong arms and his fierce, piercing eyes. Heat floods Stiles’ body, making him ache for his alpha.

 

“Dude!” Scott wails, shooting him a betrayed look. “Quit it, I can smell that! Oh my God!”

 

Squeaking, Stiles tries to cover his burgeoning erection with his hands – getting a boner in a shower room is generally not okay, unless you’re on a porn set – but try as he might, he can’t shield it all from view. Even just half hard, he’s a lot bigger than most in his current state. Face flaming, he takes a quick look around to see if anyone is giving him the stink eye and promptly chokes. _Shit!_ Danny is standing frozen under the spray of the shower head in the far corner of the room.

 

Instead of fleeing, like he should, Stiles takes one hand off his dick to smack Scott on the shoulder. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me Danny was here? I never would’ve gotten naked if I thought I could be seen by someone from home.”

 

Between sputtering and giving Stiles’ hand a horrified glare – as if he’s somehow transferred his dick’s scent to Scott by hitting him without disinfecting his hand first – Scott manages to stutter out, “I didn’t know, man! There are some pretty offensive smells in here, in case you didn’t notice, so I tried to tune it all out.”

 

Attempting to kill his best friend with a murderous stare doesn’t seem to work, so Stiles settles for huffing and marching over to yank his towel from the rack before storming into the changing room. He barely gives himself time to dry off, pulling his clean clothes on as soon as possible and power walking to the Jeep to wait for Scott.

 

He tries not to panic, but there’s a pressure behind his breast bone and his eyes are stinging. Danny is normally a decent person, but there’s no way he’s not going to spread this story. Stiles Stilinski with a freaking boner in a public shower room! Let the mocking begin!

 

Before he can progress beyond wheezy breathing and an urge to bang his head against the side of the Jeep, Scott appears beside him, a calming hand landing on his shoulder.

 

“You okay, dude? You stormed out of there like someone criticized your taste in comic books. I’m sorry I didn’t catch Danny’s scent, but is it really that bad? He isn’t gonna tell anyone, right?”

 

Stiles flaps an outraged hand in his face. “Who are you trying to kid, Scott? You might have been accepted into the cool leagues because you suddenly turned into a lacrosse star overnight, but for the most part I’m still the awkward benchwarmer. Of course he’ll tell and I’ll be stoned to death in the parking lot by a gang of laughing assholes!”

 

It’s a testament to how well Scott knows him when he sees right past the snark to the core of the problem. Warm eyes tensing with concern, Scott throws a quick glance back towards the shower cabin. “Do you want me to ask him not to tell?”

 

Smothering the deranged laughter bubbling up his throat like scalding lava, Stiles shakes his head and throws their bags into the back of the car. “Nah, man. Wouldn’t do any good and, anyways, if we let him know I don’t want him to tell, it will probably make him want to even more. Let’s just go.”

 

Sighing, Scott climbs into the passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt.

 

xXx

 

A ray of sunlight wakes Stiles up next morning. For a second, before he’s fully aware, he stretches, enjoying the bright blue sky he can see through his window. Then reality seeps in and his stomach sinks. Though he wants nothing more than to roll over and bury his head under his pillow, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, hauling himself upright.

 

He showers, glaring at his dick’s enthusiastic morning salute. This is clearly not going to be a good day, so why is his traitorous cock being such a happy trooper? With a sigh, he gives in, jerking himself off fast and hard, just to get it over with. If he refuses, he’ll probably get an erection at a very inopportune moment, because that’s his luck.

 

Grabbing his school bag and a couple of granola bars to substitute breakfast, he shuffles out to the Jeep, driving to school with a mounting sense of dread curling low in his gut. He wonders if he will even make it into the building before the taunting starts.

 

There’s a brief moment of relief when he spots Scott waiting for him beside his dirt bike. If there’s one thing his best friend has always excelled at, it’s loyalty.

 

To Stiles’ surprise they make it to their lockers without incident. No one yells at him, no one laughs and no one even looks at him wrong. He throws a questioning glance at Scott, who shrugs in response. Sighing, Stiles grabs the books he needs and they head off to their first class of the day.

 

At lunch, Danny sits with Jackson, chatting as usual, all easy confidence and dimpled smiles. There’s no finger pointing and no malicious giggling – Stiles checked.

 

He stays on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop. However, at the time of the final bell, Stiles remains unbullied. He hardly dares believe it, but he makes it to his Jeep with no ambush attacks. A little of the tension eases, allowing him to breathe freely for the first time since he noticed Danny in the shower room.

 

As he’s putting the car into gear, there’s a knock on the passenger side window. Scott seems to be trying to mime something through the glass. There’s some kind of growly face, which Stiles interprets as _werewolf business_ and some complicated gestures he can’t parse out. In the end, he rolls down the window to ask an exasperated, “What?”

 

Scott laughs, dropping his flailing hands. “Derek called a pack meeting and I thought perhaps I could catch a ride?”

 

Fighting the urge to smack his face into the steering wheel himself, Stiles waves Scott in.

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, fighting a grin. The sarcasm comes all too easy. “Don’t mention it. When the all mighty Alpha calls, we must all make haste! No need to worry about getting decent food to cook to save my dad from an early death, brought on by too many burgers and secret donut munching.”

 

Scott answers with his constipated _I’m not sure if you’re serious or fucking with me right now_ face. In lieu of elaborating, Stiles releases the parking brake and backs out of his spot, driving toward the Hale house.

 

xXx

 

When they arrive, Erica and Isaac are in the kitchen, pulling something out of the oven. Boyd is in the arm chair by the window, a book open in his lap. Jackson is holding the remote hostage and sprawling on the couch, taking up way more space than he needs to. Scott skips into the kitchen, ready to help and returns with an armful of soda cans, Isaac and Erica trailing behind with plates and fresh baked cookies.

 

Scott attempts to steal a cookie, which causes Isaac to growl and swipe a clawed hand at him. He’s too slow, though, and Scott ducks, shoving his prize into his mouth, smirking. A war cry echoes in the den as Isaac leaps onto Scott’s back and they go tumbling over the back of the couch, snarling and snapping. As they roll too close, Boyd lifts his feet up, looking utterly bored with the proceedings. Stiles snorts and walks over to the couch.

 

“Yo, Jackie, can you scooch?”

 

Jackson’s eyes snaps to Stiles’ face, a withering glare his only reply.

 

“Oh my god, move over! We all need to be here,” Stiles snaps, annoyed.

 

Scoffing, his eyes back on the TV screen, Jackson sneers, “Yeah, and your dick alone needs half a couch, huh?”

 

All of a sudden it feels like Stiles has a stomach full of icy glass shards. “What?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scott’s face, alarmed, popping up from where he’s tangled with Isaac on the floor. Erica, who had been plastering herself all over Boyd, is frozen, her eyes whipping back and forth between Stiles and Jackson, sparkling with amusement.

 

Jackson’s stupid face is twisted into a smug expression, delighted at the prospect of inflicting damage to someone else’s ego.

 

“You know what I’m talking about, Stilinski. Danny said he saw you wave your log around in a shower room; told me it looks like it belongs on a horny elephant! Is that why your balance sucks? Your dick messes with your equilibrium?”

 

While Stiles is occupied gaping, attempting to find his words, Erica bursts out laughing. Even Boyd cracks a crooked smile.

 

That weird pressure in Stiles’ chest is back, his breathing going fast and shallow. Usually, the acerbic wit comes easily, but for once in his life, Stiles can’t think of a decent comeback.

 

“Go fuck yourself!”

 

Jackson barks a sharp laugh. “I can’t, because _my_ dick isn’t the size of a freaking anaconda!”

 

A sour, acrid feeling unfurls in Stiles’ gut. He refuses to give in to dimwitted taunts. He’s not going to show this douchebag any weakness.

 

Curling his lip in an attempt to cover the hurt with disgust, Stiles spits out, “You’re just jealous. Got a teeny weenie, Lizard Breath?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Jackson snorts. “I have no reason to be jealous, Stilinski, because _I_ get to have sex. Monster dicks are only popular in porn, where people are willing to sacrifice their ability to sit for a week in order to get paid. You are never gonna get anyone to go near that thing!”

 

For a few moments, the living room is silent, everybody seeming to hold their breath. Stiles’ hands are clenched so tight they are starting to shake and he jerks his head in a resigned nod, turning to get the hell out. He knew this whole thing was gonna end with humiliation.

 

He hasn’t even completed the first step before a voice rings out behind him.

 

“I would.”

 

Stiles freezes, muscles locked in shock. A throat is cleared and someone shuffles on the couch, making the leather creak.

 

“What?” Jackson’s voice is weirdly strangled.

 

Slowly circling back to his friends, Stiles looks for the source of the interrupting voice. Derek, who was absent earlier, is leaning against the wall inside the doorway to the kitchen. He must’ve come in through the back.

 

There’s a twitch at the corner of Derek’s mouth, like he’s trying to fight a smile and his eyes are almost glinting.

 

Stiles’ throat feels like he swallowed several, very agitated hedgehogs and his heart is beating a mile a minute. “Um, I’m gonna have to agree with Jackson this time - just this once, teeny weenie - and repeat; _what_?”

 

“I would,” Derek crosses his ankles into a nonchalant stance as a crooked smile develops on his face. Stiles thinks he might die from the shock of witnessing an actual happy expression on his alpha’s face. “Go near Stiles’ dick, I mean. I would.”

 

A lot of things happen simultaneously. Scott screams and falls off the couch, Jackson’s face goes tomato red, Derek’s smile becomes a smug smirk and Stiles flails so hard he smacks his hand on the corner of the coffee table, all the while sputtering in what he’s sure is an unbecoming manner.

 

When he’s done cursing and shaking out his throbbing hand, he throws a narrow eyed glare at his packmates, one by one. There’s gotta be some kind of conspiracy and while this sort of thing would be fun in other circumstances, he’s not feeling up to practical jokes in his current state of mind. Especially not ones conducted by the person he’s been crushing on for years.

 

Derek is still smirking, his eyes drifting up and down Stiles’ body like a physical caress. It makes Stiles’ skin tingle and his cheeks flush with heat.

 

He huffs at the alpha, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you fucking with me?”

 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. They literally _beg_ to be misunderstood and thrown back in his face.

 

Sure enough, Derek’s grin is turning wolfish. “Not yet.”

 

“Oh my God, Derek! You did _not_ say that. I mean, that’s pathetic, even for you.”

 

Derek raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Well, if you aren’t interested you can just say so.”

 

While trying to convince himself smashing his own head into the wall will not solve anything, Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is this happening? What could he have done to deserve this? He can’t say he isn’t interested because _he is_ , and he’s surrounded by human lie detectors. They will catch the lie almost before he’s uttered it.

 

Then he decides to just give up. To hell with it all.

 

Before he can change his mind, he growls - a damn good one, if he does say so himself -  and snaps, “ _Fine_! I am. And it’s not like you didn’t already know, so I don’t know why you have to rub it in. Does it make you feel better to wave all _that_ ,” Stiles makes a frustrated sound, gesturing to Derek’s ridiculous, gorgeous body, “in my face when I know damn well I can’t have it?”

 

For a couple of long seconds, the room is completely silent. No one even seems to be breathing. Derek looks like he’s been sucker punched, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, really. There’s an itch in his legs, like they want to run, carry him far away from this situation and what is sure to be an impressive bout of humiliation. He almost gives in, his body making an involuntary twitch towards the door.

 

Then Derek makes this strangled whimper and all the betas’ heads snap up, expressions varying from shock to disgust – Jackson - and glee. Before Stiles can ask them what the fuck is up with that, he’s being slammed into the couch by a mass of squirming alpha werewolf. There’s a continuous whine in his ear, hands scrabbling to get under his shirt and a warm, wet tongue on his throat.

 

Stiles is sensing there’s something he might’ve missed here, but he can’t _think_. All his blood seems to be leaving his brain, heading south with alarming speed. What with his current issue, wearing pants while having an erection is a situation guaranteed to bring excruciating pain, so he pops the button and unzips his fly. Derek mumbles an _‘Oh God yes’_ in his ear and shoves a hand into his jeans.

 

Considering it’s the first time someone else has their hand on his dick, Stiles is proud he manages not to come on the spot, but there’s nothing he can do about the embarrassing moan that bursts out of him.

 

“ _My eyes_! Dude, this is _not_ okay! I’m out of here, I’ll catch a ride with Isaac.” Scott sounds like he’s two seconds away from crying and Stiles would feel bad, he really would, but he’s too busy trying to force a hand down the back of Derek’s jeans.

 

Jackson makes a gagging sound and immediately gets smacked over the head.

 

A swarm of footsteps leave the room, Boyd hissing at Erica when she tries to stay and watch, and then the front door slams shut.

 

Derek gasps into Stiles’ ear, his voice wrecked. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

 

Moaning seems to be all the answer Stiles can come up with for a while, but then he forces the words out. “You gotta be joking. No universe exists where I’d deny you. _None_!”

 

Teeth, a little too sharp, nibble on his earlobe, sending electric sparks up and down Stiles’ spine.

 

Tangling his fingers in Derek’s hair, Stiles pulls back, trying to form an actual sentence. “Bed? Can we, like, relocate? Derek?”

 

Instead of answering, Derek tightens the arm he’s curled around Stiles’ back and lifts him up, taking off up the stairs. Squeaking in surprise, Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck. Before he can come up with a suitable comment on the manhandling, he’s deposited on a huge, soft mattress. Derek is braced above him, their eyes meeting for the first time since they collided downstairs. Breathing heavily, Stiles takes in the disbelieving expression on Derek’s face – he looks like he doesn’t believe what’s happening, but not because he doesn’t want it to. He looks almost… awed? Stiles blames his hormones, reaching out a hand to scratch through Derek’s delicious scruff. He’s always wanted to do that.

 

Clearing his throat, Stiles throws a glance downward, where his erection is making his boxer briefs bulge out. It looks obscene, a cock this massive on a slender teenage body. “So, um, do you want to fuck me or?”

 

Derek swallows, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “I would prefer the other way around, actually.”

 

After hauling his jaw up from the floor, Stiles sputters. “What? But… I’m kinda… It’s…” Not knowing how to explain, Stiles groans and reaches down to push the waistband of his briefs down, letting his erection smack onto his stomach. It reaches well past his navel, twitching with each beat of Stiles’ pulse.

 

Rather than looking scared as he ought to, Derek looks like he’s fighting the urge to fall on Stiles’ dick, mouth first.

 

“You sure?”

 

Derek flicks his eyes up. There’s only a thin ring of green around his expanded pupils and he almost seems drugged. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

Before Stiles can do more than open his mouth to answer, Derek surges forward and presses their lips together. Heat flares in Stiles’ stomach, runs through his veins and makes his whole body tingle. Desperate to feel warm skin, Stiles yanks at Derek’s shirt until the alpha detaches their lips to help.

 

When they’re both naked, Derek lays down on his stomach, spreading his legs to give Stiles access. He hurries to comply, letting his hands wander up Derek’s back to his muscular shoulders and back down, grabbing both his ass cheeks and squeezing. He leans forward, draping himself over Derek’s back.

 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, breath fanning hot and humid across Derek’s ear. The only answer he gets is a muffled grunt. Huffing a laugh, Stiles kisses the back of Derek’s neck, slowly crawling downward, lips and tongue trailing along the dip of Derek’s spine. As he reaches the alpha’s lower back, Stiles places two kisses right above the cleft of his ass before gathering his courage, dipping down and licking a path from behind Derek’s balls up to his hole. Derek’s whole body jerks, his hips pushing back for more. Apparently, rimming is a success then. He might not have done much before, and definitely no rimming, but Stiles throws himself into the task with fervor. Seeing how it affects Derek until he’s clawing the wall, cursing and moaning, body sweaty and shaking, is a huge turn on. There’s a tightening sensation in his groin every time Derek makes those punched-out groans and Stiles is starting to fear he might not make it to the main event.

 

Using one hand to grab the lube – when had Derek fetched that? – he reaches under himself to squeeze the base of his cock. He manages to calm down a little, and he slicks up his fingers and starts working Derek open. The muscle yields surprisingly easy and Stiles is caught between relief that he’s less likely to hurt Derek and an irrational streak of possessiveness. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous about whoever Derek’s been with before, but the feeling sneaks in anyway.

 

Derek whines like he’s dying, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. “Come on, before we die of old age!”

 

“Oh my God, give me a break, Derek! I’ve never fucked anyone before, okay? Now, chill.”

 

Derek twists to throw a skeptic glance over his shoulder. “What about the dude you hooked up with a few months back? You came to a pack meeting smelling like you’d been in an orgy, the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen on your face. When Scott asked you, you said you’d had sex!” The alpha pouts as best he can while lying naked on his stomach, legs spread and lube trickling from his hole, over his balls and into the sheets.

 

Snorting, Stiles withdraws his fingers, slicking up his own cock with liberal amounts. Better safe than sorry, right?

 

“Yeah, well, sex can be other things than penetration, you know? He blew me and then jerked off on my face. Must be why I smelled.”

 

Ignoring Derek’s petulant muttering, Stiles takes ahold of his own erection and moves into position, nudging the head against Derek’s slick pucker. His nerves are making his hands tremble.

 

“You ready?” Stiles is surprised his voice is this steady. His heart is thumping along in a chaotic rhythm and the longer he stares between Derek’s ass cheeks, where his dick is supposed to fit, the smaller it looks. He wonders if there can possibly be room for his massive length; if he will end up hurting Derek.

 

Derek merely nods an affirmative, pressing back. Granted, he will heal if something should happen, but Stiles doesn’t want there to be any more pain for his Alpha. He holds still, the air frozen in his lungs as the muscle gives around his cock until the glans pops through. He nearly doubles over as the pressure and heat envelops him.

 

“Holy fucking shit! Oh my… Derek. _Fuck!_ ” His hips are twitching involuntarily, his entire body screaming at him to thrust forward, take the pleasure offered to him. He knows not to be a selfish lover, though, and takes a second to compose himself before carefully pushing in another inch. Derek hisses, his fingers clenching in the sheets.

 

Panting, Stiles manages to run a hand through Derek’s hair, scratching at his scalp. “Fuck! Are you all right? If it’s too much... you have to tell me,” he gasps, fighting to stay still. “No brave _‘I’m the alpha’_ bullshit!”

 

Instead of replying verbally, Derek curls his right leg up behind Stiles, shoving him deeper. The pleasure increases and Stiles stills, gulping in big breaths as he gapes at where they’re joined. He’s got about half his length in Derek’s ass now, and it feels fucking incredible. He wants to stay here forever, always connected.

 

Derek whines, wiggling until he can reach back and grasp a hip, trying to pull him closer. Stiles braces himself and rolls his hips, slow and careful. He would never have thought this would be so easy, but he continues sinking in until he’s flush against Derek’s firm cheeks. For a moment, he just stares, riveted. He extends a finger, tracing it around the rim, where Derek is stretched to accommodate him, rim taut around his massive girth. It looks almost obscene.

 

“Stiles. _Please!_ ”

 

Hearing Derek beg is like a solid kick to his stomach. The alpha is always so strong, always reluctant to show any vulnerability and yet here he is, trusting Stiles with everything. The implications of this makes Stiles ache. He wants to take care of Derek and make sure he’s happy – for as long as they manage to stay alive, if he can have it his way.

 

Stiles sets a rhythm, thrusting deep and slow, delighting in the friction of their bodies, the building heat in his groin.

 

Derek keeps whining, so Stiles snaps his hips harder, gritting his teeth in an effort to hold his orgasm at bay. Derek yells, claws sprouting from his fingers and for a second, Stiles thinks he’s made a mistake, but then Derek starts chanting. “Yes, yes, yes, like that! Oh _fuck_ yes! More!”

 

Resigned to the fact he will probably come way too soon, Stiles lets go of his restraint, drawing back and slamming back in, his balls smacking against Derek’s with a lewd sound. Their breathing and the _slap, slap, slap_ of their skin is echoing around the room.

 

As Stiles curls forward, snaking an arm underneath Derek in an attempt to grab his dick, the alpha roars, his body jerking and muscles tightening. Before Stiles can get his hand around Derek’s cock, warm fluids spatter on his skin and when Stiles draws his hand back, it’s covered in sticky come. Did Derek just…? _Holy shit_ , Derek came only from getting fucked!

 

The thought is too much and the ecstasy explodes in Stiles, crashing through his body, all the way out to his fingertips. He shoves in deep, moaning in bliss as he comes, body spasming and twitching endlessly. Once the trembling finally dies down, all the energy seems to be leaving his body with it and he slumps forward onto Derek’s back.

 

Their breathing is loud in the otherwise quiet room and Stiles lowers his head to rest between Derek’s sweaty shoulders. He still feels like his whole world might turn over if he lets go and he isn’t sure if that would be a good or a bad thing, so he stays still.

 

However, it soon occurs to him how this must be for Derek, squashed down and with a come-covered dick still in his ass. He hauls himself up, preparing to pull out when Derek growls and flops a hand behind himself to grab at Stiles and yank him back down. “Go to sleep,” he mumbles, already sounding far away.

 

Stiles fidgets, trying not to move his hips at all. What if Derek wanting to get fucked was a heat-of-the-moment thing and he’s starting to regret it?

 

“Like this? Can’t be comfortable for you, I can-“

 

Derek grunts, grabbing one of Stiles’ hands and tugging it underneath himself, effectively preventing him from moving away.

 

With exhaustion creeping in, his body warm and sated, Stiles gives in, closes his eyes and falls asleep.

 

xXx

 

Stiles wakes up sometime later, his bladder an urgent pressure in his abdomen. When he shifts he realizes his dick is still buried in Derek’s ass. Glancing up, he finds Derek asleep, head burrowed into a pillow, a spot of drool on the fabric by the corner of his mouth. Being as gentle as he can, he shuffles onto his knees, still bowed over the sleeping body of his alpha. He starts to pull back, hoping he won’t wake Derek up.

 

As he withdraws, he finds himself mesmerized by the sight of his soft cock reappearing, still covered in lube and come. Derek snuffles, his fingers twitching, but settles again right away. Stiles lets out the breath he’d been holding and continues. The drag of Derek’s rim against the sensitive skin makes desire churn in Stiles’ gut and he speeds up, slipping free with a soft squelch. A trickle of pearly white follows, getting caught in the hairs between Derek’s legs as his pucker contracts, closing up. The sight makes Stiles’ tacky dick twitch with interest and he hurries into the bathroom to relieve himself before he can go hard.

 

When he’s done he walks back into Derek’s room. Moonlight is casting a blue tint on everything and it makes Derek looks ethereal; the strong, muscular lines of his body on display.

 

A dreamy smile develops on Stiles’ face and for a second, he feels giddy. He hopes they can do this again, he wants to get fucked by Derek and fuck him again. He wouldn’t have guessed the Alpha would allow anyone to mount him, but judging by the sounds and the desperate claw marks on the bed frame and wall, Derek had enjoyed it a _lot_. He’d even come untouched, just from Stiles’ cock in his ass! Stiles is smug for a moment, before it dawns on him – he won’t be so well endowed in a week’s time.

 

Stomach sinking, Stiles looks down. His cock hangs soft between his thighs, well above average, even flaccid. All of a sudden, Stiles despises his own body. Derek has no idea Stiles isn’t really hung like a freaking horse, and now there are expectations. How the hell is he supposed to tell Derek he normally has a truly unexceptional dick, of the below-average-length variety? It’s not like he thinks Derek is vain, not more so than any regular man, but he’s got to know how he looks. Someone so beautiful, so _gorgeous_ , would have good reason to expect something extraordinary of their partner, right?

 

Try as he might to turn this around in his head, he finds it’s a lost cause. He’s feeling awful and there’s the pressure in his chest again. He’s certain he doesn’t want to wake Derek up by having a panic attack or bawling his eyes out, so he gathers his clothes in silence and sneaks out.

 

Feeling stupid for putting any hope on a future with Derek, Stiles lets himself out of the house and staggers over to the Jeep. Before he’s even half way down the drive, his vision is blurry from unshed tears. Getting angry at himself, he wipes his sleeve across his face, sniffles once and locks his jaw. He will give himself one night to wallow and from tomorrow onwards, he will just have to deal.

 

He arrives home, the stars clear overhead, and throws the Jeep into park and trudges inside, shoulders slumped. He flicks the light on in the kitchen, wanting to get a bottle of water before heading up to bed, but startles when he sees his dad, head pillowed on his arms, sleeping by the table. At first, he can’t understand why his dad hadn’t gone to bed, but then he realizes, he should have called home after the pack meeting to say he would be back late. His dad isn’t unfair, and ever since Stiles turned eighteen he’s been allowed to stay out however long he wants, on the condition he keeps his grades up and always let his dad know where he’s going and for how long. He failed to do either tonight, getting thoroughly distracted by Derek’s tongue down his throat.

 

No doubt, the Sheriff was waiting for him to come home. Stiles and his dad have always worried too much about each other, not that either will admit to it.

 

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, Stiles checks for missed calls. Or rather, he tries. His phone is dead. For a brief moment Stiles considers leaving him there and sneaking upstairs to avoid the inevitable reprimanding and the patented Stilinski Stare of Disappointment, but his dad will wake up sore and cramped if he continues sleeping on the chair. With a deep sigh, Stiles walks over and shakes the Sheriff’s shoulder.

 

“Dad?”

 

Only a few seconds pass before his dad is fully aware, a trait that has come in handy for his job, and his eyes narrow on Stiles immediately.

 

“Where were you?”

 

A heavy weight settles in Stiles’ stomach and he feels a little sick. Something must have shown on his face, because his dad loses the stern glare and looks worried. “Son, are you all right?”

 

All of a sudden, Stiles wants to throw his arms around his dad and let it all go, sob like a little child. But he won’t. He can deal with this.

 

“I was at Derek’s. My phone died and I fell asleep. I’m sorry I worried you, Dad.”

 

Several expressions flit over the Sheriff’s face, too fast for Stiles to be able to recognize them.

 

“Derek’s, huh? Did something happen between you two?”

 

Trying to hold back the blush, Stiles snorts. “What? No, Dad, why would you get that idea?”

 

When his dad raises his eyebrow like that, it is eerily reminiscent of a certain alpha he knows. “Stiles, don’t give me that crap. I haven’t seen you look at any girls since you got over Lydia. I have, however, seen you literally wiping off drool after ogling Hale’s backside.”

 

Sputtering, his face flaming, Stiles attempts to argue. “No! I mean, sure, I can see that he, objectively, has a nice body, but that’s not… There isn’t…” His dad is smirking, damn him. Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Fine!_ Yeah, maybe I’ve been _noticing_ him, but nothing will come of it. He’s, like, certifiably gorgeous and I’m… not.”

 

“You may not be Abercrombie & Fitch material, but you do have your assets.”

 

Stiles cringes. “Ew, you are not supposed to say that! Besides, you’re my dad, you’re biased.”

 

The Sheriff chuckles. “All right, then. So, what were you doing at Derek’s all night? Coming up with new false accusations to throw at him if he gets bored with scowling all day long?”

 

Opening his mouth to defend Derek – though he usually _does_ scowl nonstop when he’s in town – Stiles gets a quick flash of what they actually _did_ do and there’s a weird, conflicting feeling as his body tries to send blood south and at the same time keep enough in his face to maintain the impressive blush he’s now sporting.

 

“I… We…”

 

The Sheriff groans, letting his head thump onto the table. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions here, but you’re making it awfully hard, Son.”

 

Attempting an innocent smile doesn’t seem to work too well. Stiles’ dad gives him the _no-you-are-not-cute-and-now-tell-me-what-I-want-to-know_ glare.

 

“Um, you see, we might have… uh, well, what happened is that…” he trails off, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you just jump to those conclusions, that’ll probably be easier on both of us, all right?”

 

Lips pressing into a thin line, his dad seems to be restraining himself from having a full blown tantrum. His face turns red, then heads towards purple, before he slumps, resigned. “Did Hale force you into something you weren’t ready for?”

 

Stiles feels sick again. “ _NO!_ Absolutely not. He would _never_ do that!”

 

Holding up his hands in surrender, the Sheriff rumbles, “All right, don’t bite my head off. I’m worried here, you know?”

 

“I know, Dad. No need to be worried any longer, though. Afterwards, I chickened out and ran away while he was sleeping. He probably won’t ever wanna see me again.” He wishes he didn’t sound so fucking miserable.

 

“Why did you run? I thought you said he didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want?”

 

Annoyed, Stiles groans and pulls on his hair. “He didn’t! I was… I don’t know, I woke up and I was looking at him, lying there in the moonlight – shut it, I know it sounds sappy – and I just knew I won’t ever be good enough for him. He’s brave and selfless. He will fight for those he loves without any regards for himself and he’s _so_ loyal and good hearted… I don’t deserve him, and what’s more, I’m sure he’s getting offers from better looking, nicer people all the time, so why would he bother with me? Let’s face it, I’m kind of an ass and I’m nothing special to look at. I don’t exactly run a charity either… or even just run. Have you seen him go? He’s like a machine!”

 

Stiles’ dad coughs, giving him a pointed look. “Yes, I think I’ve heard enough about his physical attributes to last me a lifetime. Now, shouldn’t you at least have given him a chance to voice his opinion? Love doesn’t always take looks into account, you know. Though, if you want to be single until you’re thirty that’s fine by me; less worrying to do. If you do want to date, Hale’s a good kid, even if he can seem kinda rough around the edges. If you like him, why not take a chance? You never had any trouble throwing yourself at Lydia, as I recall.”

 

Pouting, Stiles scoffs and avoids his dad’s eyes. “Perhaps it never mattered as much with her.”

 

His dad gives him a knowing look, a fond warmth glinting in his eyes. “Well, you can think about it. Though, perhaps you should talk to Derek no matter what. Leaving in the middle of the night after… well, he could easily misunderstand.”

 

Sighing, Stiles admits defeat. “I know. Thanks, Dad. I’m gonna go to bed. You get off that chair, I don’t want to have to call for an emergency chiropractic appointment tomorrow!”

 

The Sheriff huffs, not able to hide the way the corners of his mouth turn up. “Goodnight, kid.”

 

xXx

 

Really, it should not come as a surprise that when Stiles shuts the door to his room and turns around, Derek is sitting on his bed. He ought to be expecting it by now. He has to fight the urge to turn back around and bang his head on the door, repeatedly.

 

Instead, he rubs a hand over his face and heaves a sigh. “Okay, so… how much of that did you hear?”

 

Derek’s face is a mess of emotions, flickering on and off too fast for Stiles to be sure of any of them. He doesn’t seem as tense as Stiles would’ve expected, though, so at least that’s something, right?

 

Clearing his throat, Derek says, “Enough.”

 

Silence descends and after a mere ten seconds, Stiles is ready to laugh it all off and get Derek out, in order to stop the awkwardness.

 

“Look, I’m sorry I left. That was shitty of me. I kinda freaked out-“

 

A growl interrupts him. “Yeah, I heard what you said to your dad. If you think appearance is important to me, you’re wrong! I don’t give a shit, Stiles. My looks have been a nuisance more than an advantage. However, I _do_ find you quite attractive and as for the sex, I don’t know about you, but I thought it was great.”

 

Stiles’ jaw drops and he opens and closes his mouth several times, unconsciously doing an accurate imitation of a landed fish. Then the meaning of Derek’s words sink in and for a second, Stiles’ stomach swoops. He’s close to throwing himself at Derek, when he remembers the real problem. His mood takes a turn for the worse and judging from his expression, Derek notices. Of course he interprets the change in the worst way possible. The Alpha’s face closes off as he stands up, back rigid.

 

Not willing to let Derek leave like that, Stiles lunges forward, grabbing a sleeve.

 

“No, Derek, wait! It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the sex, I really, _really_ did… But there’s something you need to know, okay?”

 

Curious green eyes turn on him, holding a spark of hope.

 

“Remember the witch we dealt with a while back? The one who blew half the pack on our asses when she took off? She, um… she apparently managed to curse me.”

 

Straight away, Derek opens his mouth, no doubt to scold him for not telling and to launch into a contingency plan of drastic measures. Stiles throws his hands up to stop it.

 

“I already went to Deaton and it’s a time limited curse, okay? Nothing to be done until it reverts by itself.”

 

Frowning, Derek flops back on Stiles’ bed. “So what’s the problem?”

 

Stiles can feel the heat in his cheeks, his face is no doubt bright red.

 

“Well, you see, the curse kind of affects me… physically. So, when it reverses, I’ll be… There’ll be less of me.”

 

Yeah, that doesn’t sound at all weird. Way to go, Stilinski. He can’t suppress the cringe.

 

“Less of you?” Derek looks confused, to say the least. “Have you gained weight? Grown taller?” The Alpha’s eyes rake up and down Stiles’ body, taking him in. Stiles shakes his head, fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie. This is going to end in horrible humiliation, he can already tell.

 

A second later, Derek’s eyes go wide and his eyes snap to Stiles’ groin. “Oh… when you say there’ll be less of you, you mean…” Instead of finishing the sentence, he gestures at Stiles’ crotch, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

 

Moaning in mortification, Stiles hides his face in his hands. He does manage to force a _‘yes’_ out through his gritted teeth. When nothing happens, he dares to peek out between his fingers. Derek’s head is tilted, like a confused puppy.

 

“Why would I care about that?”

 

Incredulous, Stiles flails in a circle, arms swinging wildly.

 

Derek huffs, rolling his eyes. “Stiles, an average sized dick is more than fine with me. I’m not that shallow!”

 

Stiles is sputtering, trying to make sense of the new world he’s been dumped into.

 

“But… But, you can’t… It won’t feel the same! How can you not care?”

 

Shrug. “Well, my prostate isn’t located ten inches up my ass, so why would I need more? I mean, it feels nice, but I can do fine without it.”

 

“But… I’m not sure it’s even average. What if I have a small dick?”

 

Derek glares. “Is it less than four inches? When you’re hard?”

 

“What? No!” Stiles may be squeaking, but really?

 

“Then what’s the problem? You don’t need more than that to reach my prostate, you dolt!”

 

Grumbling, Stiles folds his arms across his chest. “Sex is more than just getting your prostate poked.”

 

The way Derek smirks is kind of frightening. “Oh, I know.”

 

While his dick awakens at the sound of Derek’s sultry voice, the rest of Stiles is torn between fleeing and throwing himself at the man.

 

Derek must sense the indecision, because he sighs. “Stiles, have you ever known me to sugar-coat _anything_?”

 

Stiles shakes his head.

 

“Then can’t you trust me when I say I don’t care if your dick is five inches or ten? I promise you, if I get tired of anything, it’ll be your babbling. And I will _not_ hesitate to tell you! Now come here, I want to sleep. You already managed to ruin my afterglow.”

 

Expression dubious, Stiles walks over to his bed and crawls under the covers. Derek rumbles, snuffling around, pulling and shoving, until he’s flush against Stiles’ side. When he settles, he exhales in a gust and attaches himself with arms and legs. Stiles would like to complain about the clingy wereoctopus in his bed, but… well, he likes it, dammit.

 

Between one breath and the next, he falls asleep and neither of them so much as stir before morning, when the Sheriff barges in, shouts and then promptly whips out the intimidating father routine. Stiles would like to say he isn’t amused, but Derek looks like a puppy caught peeing on the floor and it’s too much.

 

His father and boyfriend – yes, he can call Derek that now, thanks – both glare at him for his lack of proper response to the situation.

 

xXx

 

A few days later, Stiles wakes up with a lot less in his boxer briefs than what he went to sleep with. Derek growls at his attempts to hide and throws him back, sucks and licks his balls until he’s about ready to burst and then just _sits_ on his cock.

 

There’s no doubt about Derek’s enjoyment, even if Stiles blows like a horny fourteen year old after two minutes.

 

He does better the second time, though.

 

By the third time, he makes Derek scream so loud the neighbors hear and call the police, afraid someone is getting murdered in the Sheriff’s house. Stiles’ dad is _not_ amused.

 

The fourth time is at Derek’s place.

 

 

xXx The End xXx

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) If you feel like I deserve it, I'd love kudos and a comment :)


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